


Imitation

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mind Break, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: You can't live up to the memory of a dead girl, but what other choice do you have?
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 156





	Imitation

He calls you kitten, mostly. Sometimes sweetheart. You don’t mind the pet names, especially when he says them so affectionately, with that lazy, indulgent smirk of his. It’s the other name that bothers you, the one that slips out in the heat of him fucking you, the one he whispers in the early hours before dawn when he thinks you’re fast asleep.

 _Her_ name. 

It’s soft and pretty, spoken with a reverence that belongs in holy places, edged with a bitter wistfulness that makes something small inside of you shatter into a thousand pieces every time you hear it.

There are pictures of her; on his desk, lining the walls. One time when he let you sleep in his bed you found one lying under your pillow - hers at one point, you guess. The photo couldn’t have been more than a few years old, but it was worn, the edges crinkled and the image a little faded. You wonder how many nights he’s wasted lying in bed staring at it, fingers slowly tracing the lines of her face.

You wonder whether he pulls it out after he’s finished with you for the night, like he’s returning to her when all is said and done.

She’s beautiful. Even with tears in her eyes, the smile on her frozen face strained and unnatural, she’s gorgeous. You suppose it’s not hard to see why he fell for her in the first place.

And you can see why he chose you. She’s prettier than you by far, there’s no denying that, but your hair is similar, and there’s something in the shape of her face, the colour of your eyes. You might not be identical, but it’s more than just a passing resemblance.

And under the dim, flickering lights of his basement, you suppose it’s good enough. 

Good enough means you get to eat. Not stale bread and plain rice spaced too far apart, but home cooked meals. Bowls of soup and curries, fresh fruit and warm drinks, once he even brought you dessert - chocolate dipped strawberries. Her favourite. He’d smiled as he fed them to you, hazel eyes darkening as you obediently licked and sucked the sweet, red juice from the fingers he slid between your lips.

Such a good girl for him. 

Good girls get rewarded. A soft mattress. Blankets. Pretty clothes. Kuroo likes to spoil you when you play along. He’s nicer, too. You get kisses instead of punishments, and sometimes when he’s finished taking what he needs, he’ll stay - strong, muscular arms curled around your waist, your head tucked against his shoulder as he strokes your hair and hums an unfamiliar tune.

You can almost pretend there’s not a chain locked around your ankle when he kisses you and tells you how much he loves you. How badly he _needs_ you.

_Not you. Never you. You’ll never be her._

And it’s cruel, you think in the dead of the night when sleep is just out of reach, the way Kuroo treats you. Not the punishments or the icy indifference and isolation he subjects you to when you’re anything less than perfect, but the way he toys with you. 

For as much as he wants you to be her, Kuroo never fails to remind you that you’re _not_. 

Your voice isn’t hers, you say and do the wrong things - _you can’t love him like she did_. And when he’s reminded of that, your adoring captor turns cold. He becomes unloving. Distant.

Irritated.

Sometimes you catch him staring, those dark eyes flickering intently across your face, and you know that it’s not _you_ he’s seeing - only to watch as they harden, all the softness and love leaching from hazel depths as the illusion fades. 

There were others before you. 

You don’t know how many, or what happened to them, but the day Kuroo brought home a friend, and apathetic, cat-like eyes appraise you, your suspicions were all but confirmed.

“Another one, Kuroo?” he scoffs, barely sparing you another glance.

Your captor ignores the comment entirely, and a moment later you’re tugged into his lap to be played with and fussed over as the two old friends catch up.

Kenma doesn’t visit often and rarely without Kuroo, but on the days Kuroo decides you’ve been good enough to roam the house freely, sometimes you catch him slipping in and out. He doesn’t pay you any mind, and why would he?

You’re just the latest plaything. A temporary pet. 

Until the day you finally gather the courage to speak, clinging to the corner of the living room wall, barely peeking your head out. 

“What happened to her?”

It’s obvious who you’re referring to. 

And maybe it’s the fresh bruises that mar your pretty skin, or maybe he just doesn’t care to keep Kuroo’s secrets anymore, because he lets out a quiet sigh. 

“She died.”

You flinch at his bluntness, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. The disdain on Kenma’s face is almost enough for you to tuck tail and run, and pray that he doesn’t tell Kuroo that you’ve been misbehaving, but as he turns to leave, you realise that if you don’t ask now, you might never get another chance, and you _have_ to know. 

“Did he kill her?”

He falters, just for a second. 

“No,” he says. Slowly, he turns - not to face you, but to stare at a photograph sitting by the coffee table; Kuroo, with his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed to her cheek in a loving kiss. If you ignore the clear discomfort on her face, the tears glistening in her eyes, it makes for a cute picture. You loathe the very sight of it. “She got pregnant and went into labour too early. He wouldn’t take her to the hospital, didn’t want to risk it, I guess.” He shrugs, but when he glances back at you there’s an uncharacteristic hardness to his features. “They didn’t make it.”

Nausea twists at your gut, and for one single moment, your heart breaks for her. For him. You’ve never really believed in soulmates or true love, but you have to wonder if that’s what she was to Kuroo. The be all, end all. 

She must have been, for him to still be trying to keep her alive years later.

As if he can read the thoughts racing through your mind, golden eyes narrow into a withering scowl. “You’ll never come close to replacing her.”

It’s more than apathy, you realise. He hates you - well, not you specifically, but whatever you represent. He might not say anything to Kuroo, at least not within your earshot, but it’s clear that Kenma couldn’t care less whether you lived or died at the hands of his friend.

He turns to leave then, apparently done with the conversation, but you can’t stop the words that tumble from your lips. “How many?”

Kenma doesn’t acknowledge that he even heard the question, at least not until he reaches the front door. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet that you barely catch it at all. “You’re the fourth.”

In the beginning, it was a method of survival. It was obvious that Kuroo was bigger than you, stronger too. When he told you that you were his, when he called you by her name, you didn’t argue. You played your role - it was better, wasn’t it, to feed into the delusion than to make him mad by trying to break it?

But it’s been months now. Nobody is coming for you, nobody but him cares what happens to you anymore. You’re no closer to figuring out a way to escape, and you’re terrified that if you try and he catches you, you’ll end up like the others.

Kuroo… can be nice. Loving, even. He’s handsome and he takes care of you, when you’re good. He doesn’t enjoy inflicting pain, he doesn’t hurt you unless you deserve it. You need him - he’s the one who feeds you, who gives you clothes to wear, shelters you. If he decides tomorrow that you’re not good enough, what’s to stop him from ending it right then and there?

It’s not like you could fight him off, months locked in his basement have robbed you of what little physical strength you had left. It’s not like anybody else could stop him, or would even care to.

You’d die, and just like the other’s before you, you’d be forgotten, nothing but a pale imitation that quickly wore out its usefulness.

He might never love you like he loved her. And Kenma’s right, you won’t ever be able to replace her, but maybe… maybe if you give him what he wants, what he _lost_ , he could find a way to love you for _you_.

You can give him the baby he wants. 

Hours later, when the front door unlocks and Kuroo walks in, he barely has a chance to drop his bag and kick off his shoes before you’re bouncing towards him. Strong arms catch you when you leap, securing you against his chest as your legs wrap around his hips, “Did you miss me that much, kitten?” he asks with a grin, walking the both of you inside. 

“I love you,” you breathlessly answer instead, reaching up to tangle a hand in raven locks and draw him down into a desperate, needy kiss before he has a chance to reply. 

It’ll be enough. 

It has to be.


End file.
